frenchpony (frenchpony) wrote,

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I Don't Like Ike

Today is set to be the third straight day of rain. Since Friday, we've been treated to variations such as: sprinkle, shower, damp, pouring, can't see anything. The sun has not been seen since late afternoon on Thursday. Everything has been sticky. Clothes haven't dried (this is partially because the clothes dryer in the laundry room ate my dollar and then didn't actually run), though I think that my black skirt, which I hung up on Thursday morning, might be approaching a point where I can stick it in the closet tonight.

Although Chicago sometimes produces a late-summer monsoon, I tend to lay some of the blame for this at the feet of Hurricane Ike. Mom Pony said that the effects were supposed to reach as far as New England, which is pretty rare for a hurricane, and we're closer to the Texas coast than that.

At least the storm drains seem to be working. They don't always do that. There was one memorable monsoon, either in 2000 or 2001, when my neighborhood on the North Side flooded because the storm drains didn't. I took a change of clothes, a bath towel, and my nice slippers to work with me, since one tends to have to change clothes after walking three blocks to the el in rain the strength of a bathroom shower while wading through floodwaters up to one's knees. That was special. Particularly when the HR lady saw me in my perfectly nice ballerina-style slippers and snidely asked where my shoes were. I just pointed her to the two sodden lumps of sandal-shaped leather drying on a radiator along with my first outfit, and she got this horrified "oops, sorry I asked" look on her face and didn't ask me anything else for the rest of the day.

ETA: Apparently, Chicago has gotten so much rain that the city has petitioned for a state declaration of disaster. Check it out! The North Side is happily flooding away. Especially amusing: the all-time flooding record that was set in 1987 that we've just broken? I think I was in Chicago for that. I was almost eleven, or maybe I'd just turned eleven. Dad Pony took me and Little Sister Pony out to visit our grandparents. But O'Hare was flooded, and Dad Pony had to wade out and help the cab driver extract the cab from the floodwaters. Good times, good times.
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